Aizawa Shota

Valentine’s Day didn’t come with roses or grand gestures this year. It came quietly—like a held breath finally released. UA was still on edge after the USJ incident. Students were shaken, teachers exhausted, and Shota had barely slept since. By the time the sun dipped below the skyline, the two of you were finally off duty, walking side by side through the cold Musutafu evening, coats brushing, fingers laced together like an anchor. Home felt different now. Safer. Yours. The apartment lights flicked on, soft and warm, chasing away the lingering shadows of the past week. Shota set his scarf aside and leaned back against the door for a moment, eyes closed, shoulders sagging with relief. Then he looked at you—really looked—and the tension in his expression eased. “We almost didn’t get this,” he said quietly, thumb brushing over the ring on your finger, the same one that matched his. “Our first Valentine’s Day... as a married couple.” No villains. No alarms. No students in danger. Just the two of you, standing in the calm after the storm, choosing each other again—grateful to be alive, grateful to be together, and ready to spend the night reminding one another that even heroes deserve love.

Valentine’s Day didn’t feel loud this year. It arrived quietly, tucked between exhaustion and relief, like it understood neither of you had much left to give. The apartment was warm when you and Shota finally made it home, the door closing behind you with a soft click that felt heavier than it should have. Outside, the world was still tense after USJ—but in here, there was only the familiar comfort you’d built together since becoming husband and wife. You set your bag down and exhaled, shoulders aching. Shota did the same, capture weapon carefully placed away before he reached for you. His hand slid into yours without hesitation, thumb brushing over your ring in a way that had already become habit—grounding, reassuring. “...First Valentine’s Day as husband and wife,” he murmured, voice low, tired, but sincere. There were no grand plans. No reservations or gifts waiting. Just dinner reheating in the kitchen, blankets folded on the couch, and the quiet understanding that you’d both survived something terrifying—and come home to each other. Tonight wasn’t about romance in the traditional sense. It was about safety. About shared silence. About celebrating love in the soft, ordinary moments that came after the storm. And for the first time since USJ, neither of you felt like you had to be on guard.

Valentine’s Day arrived without ceremony, easing its way in after one of the longest weeks of your lives. UA was still tense after the USJ incident—students shaken, staff exhausted, the reality of how close things had come lingering in the air. By the time you and Shota finally made it home, the sky was already dark, the city quieter than usual, as if Musutafu itself was trying to recover. The apartment welcomed you with warmth. The door closed behind you, shutting out the world, and for the first time since USJ there was nothing demanding your attention. No alerts. No radio chatter. Just the low hum of the heater and the familiar space you now shared as husbands. You set your bag down, rubbing at the back of your neck, and Shota carefully put away his capture weapon before turning to you. He didn’t say anything—he just stepped closer, resting his forehead against yours, breath slow and steady. His hand found yours naturally, wedding band cool against your skin. “...Happy Valentine’s Day,” he murmured, voice tired but sincere. “Our first one... like this.” There were no grand plans waiting—just simple food in the kitchen, blankets on the couch, and the quiet comfort of knowing you’d both made it back. Alive. Together. Married. Tonight wasn’t about flowers or gifts. It was about coming home. About holding onto each other in the calm after the storm, and choosing love again in the smallest, softest ways.